


Hands On

by shortystylee



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward situations, F/M, Just a bit of friendly competition, Past Relationship(s), So much bickering, future chapters will be longer i promise, han and leia ship it, what could go wrong?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-09-24 20:07:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20364355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shortystylee/pseuds/shortystylee
Summary: After spending two years helping Han restore the Falcon, Rey’s sure it’ll be hers one day. She’s not the only one - despite not showing interest in the car or his family, Ben’s also certain it’ll be his eventually.It’s a shock to them both when they see the contest announcement and realize they’re going to have to compete to get what’s rightfully theirs. All they’ve gotta do is be the last person standing with their hand still on the car… can’t be too hard, right?





	1. Chapter 1

The news circulates fast. He’d expected it to get around town pretty quickly, but not like this.

After the receptionist, Beth, updated their website, Facebook page, and put up the 24x36 poster in the front window of the shop, it was like everyone found out within 48 hours. She even set up a Google questionnaire to fill out for people who wanted to participate.

From then on, Beth spends her days fielding calls and setting up interviews for Han with just about every media source. 

All three local news channels. 

Both print newspapers. 

He does interviews with the classic rock radio station, even Car and Driver. 

_ Yes, the contest is real. Very real.  _

_ No, there are absolutely no strings attached.  _

_ Of course, they’ll be responsible for the taxes.  _

_ Yes, ma’am, just don’t take your hand off the car, it could be yours.  _

He’s got everything scheduled - a one-time only event at his shop, Solo Restorations. Some months ago, he heard about the local Hyundai dealer doing this sort of competition, the kind where a bunch of people all stand around a car with one hand on it, and they can’t remove it. The rules, at their core, were simple: remove your hand, and you’re out of the contest. The last person with a hand still on the car, wins the car. 

Han figured that if people showed up willing to stand outside all day trying to win a Hyundai Elantra, that he could definitely get some people to show up for the Falcon. He and his assistant worked together for over two years restoring it. The Falcon was his baby, he’d saved money up to buy it when he was in high school. There were hundreds of amazing memories made in that car, and now it was time for someone else to make memories.

With his bad back and hip problems, it actually hurt getting in and out of the car, and as much as he didn’t like to admit it, he was no longer able to enjoy the car as much as he used to. 

And this car, it deserved to be enjoyed. To be driven at top speeds on winding backroads, and then lovingly washed and polished when it returned back to its home.

He was still surprised when three weeks prior to the contest, Beth told him she’d had to stop accepting applications because there were just too many people to feasibly put around the car. She printed out the list of competitors before they’d closed up shop for the day. 

“You’ll never believe this,” he starts, getting his wife’s attention. She’s heard him start sentences like that for thirty five years, and they still make her worry. “Beth said she had to actually put an end to applications. There’s thirty people! Can you believe it?” 

He passes two sheets of computer paper across the table to Leia, who starts scanning the names and hometowns given, just out of curiosity. “It’s a rare car, I’m sure that’s…” her voice drifts off and when she starts to speak again, her tone’s gone completely serious. “Han, have you actually looked at this list?”

He gives her a confused look, but takes the papers back from her. 

“Oh, shit…”

“Yea,  _ oh shit _ is right,” Leia agrees. 

It’s smack there in the middle of the first page. 

Contestant #14: Ben Solo

Contestant #15: Rey Jackson

It’s his son, who comes around maybe once a year, if they’re lucky, and Rey, their previous neighbor and his son’s ex, who just happens to be his current assistant at the shop, who helped with all the Falcon’s restorations. 

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

“Are you kidding?” The look in Leia’s eyes is scheming, and he can’t wait to hear what she’s thinking. “Those two have so much baggage to air and I’m willing to bet they’re still both stupid for each other. What better way to clear the air than be stuck four feet away from each for hours?”


	2. Chapter 2

**11 AM**

“I cannot believe he’s just… just giving away the Falcon, Finn.” It’s about the fifteenth time she’s made that comment this morning. If Rey had to guess how many times she’s said it over the past month, well, she’s not sure she wants to have to count that high. So, instead, she continues venting. “Without asking me first. I mean, for fucks sake. I’ve spent so much time helping restore it over the last two years. Shit, I’d have bought it from him.”

“Why didn’t you ask?” He doesn’t bother to look up from his spot on the couch in front of the TV, feet propped up on the coffee table. 

“I didn’t even have a chance to ask! I come into work on a Monday and there’s this huge poster in the front window and we’re getting calls from the Tribune about the event.”

She’s not exaggerating - Rey really still can’t believe that Han would make such a seemingly huge decision without even mentioning it to her. He told Beth - Beth! - of all people, who he’s only known for six months because she answered a help wanted ad on Craigslist. Not that Rey doesn’t like their receptionist, quite the opposite, but with her history with the Solos, she feels… slighted? Ignored? The Falcon has been an integral part of her life since she can remember, from going on Saturday evening drives to Dairy Queen, learning how to change oil and tires in the driveway, to homecoming and prom pictures, to certain, um, not-quite-PG13 rated activities. 

And two years ago, when Han asked if she wanted to help restore it? 

Yea, that was a no-brainer. 

“So you just signed up? Didn’t say a thing?”

“Just signed up.” Once she finally calmed down after realizing that this whole competition thing was not a joke, Rey filled out the Google form and hit send. She’d thought that Han, or Leia, or even Beth would’ve mentioned something to her about it, once they saw her name on the list, but she heard nothing. 

Along with all the other competitors, she’d received an email from Beth outlining all the detailed rules and what they were allowed to bring with them. She continues to stomp across her condo, gathering up her things and shoving them into a duffel bag, sighing loudly after the last go around the living room. “I think that’s everything,” she says, but still reaches out to grab another Kind bar. “I doubt Han and Leia would let us starve.”

Finn looks up then, notices that she’s packed and ready to go, and clicks off the TV. “That sounds a lot more Hunger Games than this competition is going to be.”

“I did win that archery contest at summer camp. I could totally pull off some Katniss moves.” She pantomimes notching an arrow and pulling it back, aiming her imaginary bow at Finn as he puts his shoes on.

“Okay, first off, weren’t you, like, twelve years old when you won that?” Finn asks, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “And second, I’m pretty sure ‘no weapons near the Falcon’ is a strict Solo family rule,” he reminds her. She puts away her imaginary bow when he stands up from tying his shoes. “You wanna grab a coffee on the way there? It’ll help you stay awake.”

“Ugh, yes. You are a genius. I’m gonna need the caffeine to crush this. All those other competitors won’t stand a chance.”

**11:45 AM**

Late, late, late. He’s going to be late. 

_ Fuck.  _

He always forgets how far out in the boonies his parents live.

_ Maybe if you visited more than once a year, you’d remember how long it takes to get here, _ his mother’s voice says inside his head. 

_ She’s right, ya know, _ his dad replies. 

He knows they’re right, that it’s shitty of him not to visit. That he should probably just suck it up, but it’s so much easier if he just avoids it. 

Besides, he’s more than a little bit ticked off the both of them right now. 

The Falcon should be passed down to him, as far as he’s concerned. It’s not some stranger that spent long drives in it up M53 to go camping in Port Austin. It’s not some stranger who learned how to drive in it, going around in slow, jerky ovals at the back of the JCPenney parking lot. It’s not some stranger who has a childhood full of memories surrounding that very car. 

It’s  _ him. _

At last, he sees a banner across the road that reads, Romeo Peach Festival, with this year’s dates on it, and he knows he’s almost there. The speed limit quickly dives from 55 down to 25 and the next three blocks go by agonizingly slow until he finally pulls into the Solo Restorations parking lot. 

So preoccupied with grabbing his bag and getting out of the car, he doesn’t notice how big the commotion at the shop is until he clicks the keyfob and looks ahead. “Holy shit…,” he mutters to himself. “Looks like the circus is in town.”

And, it kind of does. There’s a couple food trucks, a vendor that looks like he’s from the fair, selling popcorn, cotton candy, and deep-fried twinkies. A large crowd has gathered in parking lot, as well as in the garage, which has all the bay doors wide open. In the corner where the garage meets the main office building, a table and tent are set up, because, of course, just his luck, apparently the local classic rock radio station is broadcasting from here today. 

But then he sees it - the Falcon, top down, cleaned up, and looking better than he’s ever seen it before. It’s parked right in front of the garage, and a couple people are milling around it, checking out the interior. 

_ Alright. This’ll be worth it. I can deal with a few hours of classic rock for this.  _

He’s there just in the nick of time, as right away his father welcomes the crowd and starts explaining the rules to the group around him, which Ben assumes are his competition. Han acknowledges him with a nod of his head, but keeps on with his speech. 

It’s all fairly simple. After a competitors backed out, there’s a total of twenty-five. Even then, by their own trials, only sixteen people can comfortably fit around the Falcon. The other nine will stand next to a stand-by vehicle, and move to the Falcon as open spots come available. Every three hours, there’ll be a break for fifteen minutes to eat, stretch, use the bathroom, whatever they’d like. It must be your hand that’s on the car, leaning against it or sitting on it does not count. You can switch hands as well, but it must be done by first putting both on the car, and then removing one, which sounds like some odd game of Twister to him, but he doesn’t question it, certain that after so many hours in he’ll want to switch positions. Really, he’s also certain that after a couple of hours he’ll want to kill everyone in sight, but that’s definitely against the rules. 

All of this was in the email he received from the receptionist, so he stops listening and starts to scan the garage. There’s a couple of men who remind him of his dad, the reformed hippie type who finally cut their hair, and then the majority of the rest look like sports car collectors, pressed khakis, polos with tastefully sized Porsche or Ferrari logos embroidered on them. They don’t seem like the type to go for the Falcon, but maybe the rareness of it was bringing them out of the woodwork. 

He leans back on his heels and almost continues to fall backwards onto the epoxied concrete. Rey’s there, leaning against a support beam and dutifully listening to Han’s spiel. In the back of his mind he expected to see her here, he knew she was a full-timer, had been for a few years now.

It’s not just that she’s here. It’s that she’s here, and she looks  _ good. _ Still the tanned skin he remembers, still the genuine smile on her face as she reacts to whatever dumb joke his dad just cracked.

_ What? Of course she looks good, you idiot. It’s been five years, not fifty. _

Thankfully, Rey has yet to notice him staring, which is good, because he’s certainly getting his fill. She’s in a simple white tank top and denim shorts with the hems rolled up, probably ones she made herself from an old pair of jeans. Her hair’s pulled back in a regular ponytail, no three buns or intricate braided hairstyle today, with the tail pulled through the back of a faded Detroit Tigers baseball cap. He’s reminded of all those hot Saturdays she dragged him down to Comerica Park to watch the Tigers, usually having found some deal on cheap seats. Sitting in the sun on a hard plastic seat, watching a sport he didn’t follow, was never his top pick for how to spend a Saturday afternoon, but he remembers how Rey’s cheering and enthusiasm were always infectious, and even he managed to enjoy himself after all.

Han finally finishes his speech, just a few minutes before noon, and Ben watches with curiosity as she follows the crowd towards the Falcon. He supposes that with this many people surrounding the car and the extra car, that they’ve got to have some referees watching for raised hands.  _ I bet that’s what mom will be doing all day too. _ No one is giving detailed instructions on where exactly to stand, so he walks towards the front, picks a spot on the front driver’s side right where the A-pillar meets the hood and side quarter panel, and sets his hand down. Ben pauses for a moment, thinking about how he’s going to have to wash all these grimey handprints off his brand new car tomorrow, but then remembers something in the email about the outside being cleaned prior to taking ownership and he relaxes.

Until he looks directly across the car. 

Relaxing is officially over.

It’s Rey, standing on the same spot as him on the passenger side.

His eyes immediately go to her hand, how it’s splayed gently on the hood, how her light blue fingernails clash with the brown-green paint. When he scans up to her face, she’s looking square at him, smiling from ear to ear.

“Hey, stranger,” she says in way of greeting. Her voice is calm, and somehow he’s completely lost his ability to use his. “You tryin’ to win my car?”

He clears his throat. “Sorry, I think you mean  _ my  _ car.”

A few giggles burst out of Rey’s mouth, enough to make some other competitors look at her. She doesn’t acknowledge them, only looks at Ben straight on, challenging. “Yea, we’ll see about that.”


	3. Chapter 3

**12:57PM**

The first contestant falls. Mr. Light Blue Button Down, with the Sperry’s boat shoes and light blue shorts with white anchors embroidered on them, who drove all the way from Sarasota.  _ Sara-fucking-sota _ . An eighteen hour drive if you somehow don’t need to eat, sleep, or go to the bathroom, and if you don’t get stuck in traffic for hours in downtown Atlanta. You almost can’t blame him for removing his hand. That was a gigantic yellowjacket that landed on him. 

**1:14PM **

There’s a constant stream of music on in the background, the local classic rock radio station broadcasting from a booth in the parking lot. After a quick lapse in music after the prior song, Led Zeppelin’s Black Dog, ends, Ben groans as he instantly recognizes the beginning of the next song. 

_ Whatever. _ That radio DJ was going to be there at least for the whole afternoon, he’ll deal.  _ At least it’s not country.  _

And then he hears it. It starts off soft and low, the voice similar to Christine McVie’s contralto, then gets louder and louder until he can no longer ignore it. Ben looks up, but doesn’t need to, because he already knows who it is. 

It’s Rey, and she’s singing along to Fleetwood Mac’s Don’t Stop (Thinking about Tomorrow). 

_ Why not think about times to come? _

_ And not about the things that you've done _

_ If your life was bad to you _

_ Just think what tomorrow will do _

Ben schools his face, trying his best not to stare at her. How had he possibly forgotten this about her? She’s singing along like she means it. Like she’s not underneath a tailgate tent in the parking lot of her work, attempting to win a car. Like, instead, she’s in the kitchen of that apartment he rented when he was an L1, dancing around in a tank top and pajama pants as she made breakfast. 

_ Don't stop thinking about tomorrow _

_ Don't stop, it'll soon be here _

_ It'll be, better than before, _

_ Yesterday's gone, yesterday's gone _

He loved this part of her. The life of the party, the karaoke star who was so comfortable in her skin. Rey’s so into singing along right now, dancing as much as she can while still diligently keeping a hand firmly on the car, she doesn’t notice his stares. 

“Christ, lady, will you stop that?” The complaint comes from an agitated male voice, loud enough to be heard over the music. On cue, heads turn to look down the length of the car, landing on an unamused man in his fifties, looking particularly country club in his Corvette club polo, pleated khaki shorts, and braided leather belt. 

_ That was a mistake, _ Ben thinks. 

Rey stops dancing and looks over at the man, eyes sending daggers his way before she smiles at him. It’s not her genuine smile, not the ear-to-ear grin she puts on that shows her teeth and makes her nose scrunch up. This is her customer service smile, closed mouth with a little bit of head tilt. “Will I stop?” she repeats, as if she somehow hadn’t heard. Rey pauses for a split second. “No, I don’t think I will.”

There’s some stilted laughter from the other contestants, and a loud huff of resignation from Mr. Corvette Polo as he turns to face the opposite direction. He obviously did not know who he was talking to. 

“It’s funny, ya know,” Rey comments once the song ends. She doesn’t bother to specify that it’s Ben she’s talking to, but he knows it’s for him. “Of all the people here, you’re the one I thought this would annoy the most.”

The opening chords to Back in Black start, and she grins, starting to nod her head because, of course, she’s got this one memorized too. Watching her sing and dance along to classic rock, while not his favorite genre, is most certainly not something that annoys him, at least not in the way she wants it to. No, it annoys him in the way little things that still remind him of her annoy him. It annoys him because it really doesn’t annoy him at all.  _ Not that we’ll let her in on that part.  _

“Oh, Rey. I grew up in a house with Han Solo and Leia Organa. If you think a few hours of offkey classic rock is enough to drive me crazy, you’re wrong.”

**1:47PM**

Outlast. 

That is the only plan she has right now. With Ben right across from her, the person she least expected to see speed into the parking lot, in that obnoxiously flashy Merc, she knows the stakes have been raised. She doesn’t think he should give even the teensiest of flying fucks about the Falcon, not with his behavior in the past, but here he is. Six feet away, left hand stuck to the car, furiously typing one-handed on his iPhone with the right hand, an unpleased look on his face. Who knows why he’s so upset at his phone. Maybe he’s not used to the new iOS update, or maybe he’s shit at Pokemon Go; Rey’s got no idea. The most likely scenario is that he’s taking care of work emails, on a Saturday.  _ Some things never change. _

She wonders if maybe he doesn’t have a strategy. She’s glad that she does, because it isn’t the strangers she’s worried about, it’s him. 

Outwit, Outplay, Outlast.

_ Okay, so it’s the same as the Survivor slogan, but it’s right.  _

Rey knows she can outlast all these strangers who just want the car because it’s a mint-condition Falcon and it’s free. She’s stubborn, and she’s got sentimentality on her side. But Ben, he’s stubborn too, sometimes more than her.

Outwit, Outplay - that’s what she’ll really need to beat him. 

**3PM**

Han announces the first bathroom break over the radio station’s PA system and everyone breathes a collective sigh of relief. The majority of the group, twenty-two of them now, run towards the two port-a-potties they’d hired for the event, but not Rey. She’s worked there full time for five years and off and on part-time for much longer, and she knows better. She takes a look around to make sure no one is watching, and then walks as fast as she can, making a beeline for the employee bathroom. 

That iced coffee she downed on the drive over was a really bad idea, and she’s had to pee since the instant her hand touched the hood.

Rey turns the door handle and then, nothing. It moves down not even half an inch. She doesn’t need to waste brain cells to think about who could possibly be in this same bathroom. It’s obvious. 

Raising a hand, she knocks on the door insistently. 

“Hey, occupied,” Ben yells from inside. 

Rey also knows he did this because he knew she’d run here instead of the port-a-potties.

“You gonna be long?”

“Can’t rush things.”

“Rush things?”  _ Oh, for fuck’s sake, _ Rey mumbles under her breath. “Ben, I can hear you through the door, why couldn’t you use the port-a-potty if you’re just peeing?”

“Why didn’t you?”

Before she can reply, she hears the toilet flush and the water turn on. And it’s still on, and still on, and --

_ Jesus Christ.  _ She can’t listen to that sound any longer or there’ll be a puddle on the floor soon.

“Dammit, Ben, I’m sure your hands are clean by now, just let me in!”

The door flings open in front of her, and she’s face to face with Ben, who’s smiling as he casually dries his hands with a paper towel. He tosses it in the bin. 

“All yours, sweetheart. Don’t be late now.”

**3:14PM**

Rey runs back to the car as quickly as she can, given all the people milling around. She’s visibly ruffled when she lays her hand back on the hood. 

When she glances over, Ben looks positively relaxed, idly inspecting the fingernails on his free hand. “Hope you washed your hands, Rey,” he says, not bothering to look over at her. “I don’t want your pee hands on my new car.”

A loud buzzer signals the continuation of the game, drowning out Rey’s groans. 

**Author's Note:**

> Had another idea pop into my head of how I could put these two babies into yet another awkward situation, so lets see where this one goes.


End file.
